


Watching over

by Ibenholt



Category: Cyborg 009
Genre: Family, Family Fluff, References to Depression
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-05
Packaged: 2019-05-18 18:04:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 966
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14857592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ibenholt/pseuds/Ibenholt
Summary: The aftermath of 009 RE: Cyborg, through Ivan's eyes.





	Watching over

**Author's Note:**

> The song they listen to can be found here: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FzbKGwcmmvM

Ivan knew that in a way, they shouldn’t have been so shell-shocked. 

Miracles and gods and reality tying itself into a knot wasn’t new to any of them. But the Cyborgs had lived relatively docile lives, and not even their reunion as a family in a spacious house could stop the uneasiness that came after the world bending. 

Jet was the worst one. Not surprising, considering that his own people had turned on him, and everything he had believed for so long had been taken away from him. He was clingy to the point that he’d probably sit down on their laps if they had asked him. He spent a lot of time with Ivan, watching baby movies and playing with him. 

It was helping, little by little. But as much as Ivan enjoyed the company of his oldest friend, the anger and anxiety coming off him got to be too much, and Jet started picking up on it, simply getting up and going to sit at someone’s feet while easing himself out of the spiraling thoughts. Ivan didn’t know if he was sorry or grateful or both.

Even Geronimo seemed plagued, usually meditating and making buckets of soothing tea, just like he had done when they first arrived at Kozumi’s house. 

When he had come to Gilmore’s headquarters only three years ago, he had been tired and defeated, having had to give up on his mission of preservation of his peoples’ art and reserves. Ivan and Francoise had managed to provide some comfort, distracting him with the trips to parks and coffee shops. Now they were back to square one. The already quiet man didn’t speak unless spoken to, and even then, his replies were grunts or a few muttered words. Being held by him had once made Ivan feel safe and comforted. Now, he just felt like another burden, and he knew Geronimo hated himself for feeling that way. 

Francoise’s cheeriness was gone, leaving her distant. She blamed it on getting used to the sounds and sights of the Texan desert, but Ivan knew her too well by now. His friend and self-declared sister was returning to the girl she was when she had first emerged out of her pod all those years ago, quiet, frightened, and jumping at the smallest sound. She was skittish, even around him. 

Albert and Joe slept most of the time, usually being cuddled by each their blonde while doing so. Ivan stopped joining their slumber parties after picking up too many of the echoes in Joe's head, and too much of the grief that was re-surfacing in Albert. 

Pyunma’s interest in archeology had either faded or been put on hold. He was burying himself in literature, instead. The books soon formed a wall, and Ivan had no intention of breaking it down. 

GB was quiet and stern, not resembling the man he had been. He watched British news channels and smoked like he was trying to win a medal. Everyone was too tired to tell him not to.  
Gilmore had locked himself up in the lab, only coming up to breathe in the stale smell of Jet and GB’s cigarettes every once in a while. 

Ivan knew them well enough now to see how the lows they were approaching would soon lead to someone bouncing back, and would drag the rest with them. 

All in all, Ivan’s family was recovering, even if they were doing so at a snail’s pace. And as he waited, he found sanctuary in the kitchen with Chang. 

He was the one who panicked the most on the battlefield, but here, safe among pots and pans, it was as if nothing could frighten him. He radiated calm, and Ivan was taking it all in like a breeze after days of scorching sun.  
Chang had been the one perhaps least affected by His Voice, and his therapy after all the events had happened had been to cook them their favorite meals, and to leave enough cakes, cookies and biscuits lying around that everyone at least kept their energy up. Sweets were easier than full meals, after all. 

He was working on brownies, trying to decide between raisins or nuts or both. He started chopping chocolate, paused, picked up a piece and held it out to Ivan.  
Chang grinned at him as he accepted, 

“Don’t choke on that, or Geronimo will choke me.” 

“He would never.” 

“Well, Francoise would. I’ll make sure to put aside a little bit of dessert for you.”

“They might choke you for that.” 

“Maybe. But it’s obscene to me that you’re almost 90 years old and hardly ever get any dessert.” 

“In another 50 years I might be big enough.” 

“Oh? You’re still making progress?” 

“I’ve grown another centimeter this year.” 

“That’s marvelous news! And certainly an occasion for something sweet!” 

They always overreacted to such news, but Ivan had started to enjoy it. They loved him and wanted to be encouraging. And he would grow. It even appeared to be going quicker every year. At some point, he would be able to take care of himself.  
But this was nice, too. 

Chang pinched his chin lightly, 

“You look even more thoughtful than usual. What’s going on?”

“Can you put on the song I like?” 

Chang grinned as he turned to his phone and the speaker it had been put into. 

“It’s been a while since I last enjoyed Gong Chio Xia.”

Ivan clicked his translator off. He had picked up just a little Chinese, and he had a vague idea what the song is about, but today, he wanted lay back and not think. He was the most logical of them, but the human brain was a fickle thing, even after Gamo Asimov's improvements. Some rest would do him good.


End file.
